


Thunder

by DerKnochenbrecher



Category: Stranger Mukou Hadan | Sword of the Stranger
Genre: Gen, Pre-Movie, sisterly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:04:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerKnochenbrecher/pseuds/DerKnochenbrecher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mu You is awakened by thunder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even have an excuse beyond "I couldn't sleep either."   
> Disclaimer: even though I researched this as much as I could, Chinese history and culture are not my forte, much less Mongolian. I sincerely apologise for any mistakes that may have resulted from my stabs in the dark.

_“I want to ask you; all Mongols fear the thunder… but not you?”_

_“I had no place to hide from the thunder, so I was not afraid of it anymore.”_

_\- Mongol (2007)_

Mu You’s opened her eyes before the first roll of thunder had finished sounding. It dissipated into silence, replaced by the hush of rain on the tile roof and the leaves of the persimmon tree outside her window. Then came the flash of lightning, showing itself only as cracks of light, like bone slivers, around the shuttered window. She waited for the next one.

She was awake now, and knew that she would remain so until the thunderstorm had passed. She sat up, eyes turned towards the window, even if she couldn’t see anything. It was superstition, at this point, and nothing more, but the noise – and the worry – would keep her awake. She was not afraid of it, of course – in the middle of Shandong, nothing could hurt her, not even lightning. But some habits were hard to kill, and this was one of them.

There was a soft creak of the floorboards in the hall. In a night this quiet, any human sound would make itself heard, even if the footsteps were so as to make the least amount of noise as Mumao – she knew it was her sister, just by the sound – approached her door. She pushed it open, slightly at first as though worried it would make a sound. The sound of her footsteps as she entered the room was masked by a sudden gush of wind.

Mu Mao crouched next to her low bed, reaching over to take her sister’s hand, fumbling for only a moment to find it. They rarely touched, and it was even rarer that when they did, it was like this. Like crossing a threshold, an almost-memory of the smell of felt and milk and a half-remembered song in a language they no longer spoke.

“Can you not sleep, mèimei?” If Mu You’s voice startled her, Mu Mao didn’t show it – or if she did, she hid it in the way she gripped her sister’s hand as the sky gave another roar.

“The storm woke me,” Mu Mao replied, just as quiet.

That was what she said, but there was a tone to that statement, asking something else. She stood up slowly to sit on the bed, hand still on Mu You’s, and Mu You wrapped her arm around her, pulling her close. She leaned against the wall, the wood cold against her skin, and Mumao moved with her. A cool breeze blew gently through the cracks in the window frame – a problem in the winter, in a way a ger never was, but now something like welcome. She opened the shutters slightly, so she could see branches.

Thunder cracked again, followed by a spear of lightning. Mu Mao flinched slightly, and Mu You ran a hand down her shoulder.

“It can’t reach us,” she reminded her. For emphasis, she drew her thumb across her sister’s forehead. She had no ash to leave a trail, but she remembered her mother doing something much the same when they were very young. “You’re safe, Xiǎo Tù.”

A pause, then; “Thank you, jiějiě.”

Moments passed, the thunder sounding again and again, the lightning drawing closer to it with each flash. The storm would take time to pass yet. But Mu Mao no longer flinched as it drew near. Her fingers twisted into Mu You’s hair, like she was hesitating, then she started running her fingers through the length of it. She started braiding it, finishing halfway down before taking hold of the next strand, leaving Mu You’s hair in half-made cords like those northern men who traced ancestry to the grey wolf. The time between thunder and lightning disappeared, each bolt turning the little room, white, even their hair. Mu Mao’s hands slowed as the storm began to depart, and she leaned her head against Mu You’s shoulder, taking a calloused hand in her own.

The thunder disappeared into the distance, blown towards the distant sea. It was replaced by rain against the roof and the leaves of the persimmon tree, blown about in a wind that whistled through the joists. Mu Mao’s grip loosened as she fell asleep, and Mu You lowered her instead of moving her to her own bed. She closed the window and wrapped the blanket around both of them, chasing off the cold that had been so welcome.

It felt nothing like the wool blankets that were needed in the vast north, if one did not wish to freeze to death.

“Goodnight, mèimei,” she whispered. The worst of the storm was over, and so she let herself once again fall asleep.


End file.
